The Black Angel Pt 1
by ValentineRomano
Summary: Okay, here's the deal, this is about a made up character and Johnny but is mostly ABOUT the madeup character and how Johnny effected her life.


Prologue

"Ever had that feeling that someone is watching you? Like you just know that they're watching you, making sure you mess up?"

"Valentine, you're. . .paranoid."

Valentine looked up at her friend, Camille, and glared at her. "No I'm not, Camille!" The deep emerald green eyes stared off to the ceiling. "I'm so not paranoid. But I mean those...idiots...out there...they're effin' STALKERS!" She whipped her head around to look out the window. Camille's brown eyes just stared, "Dude...you've got ISSUES! FACE IT!" Valentine stared at her, "Camille, I'm not paranoid! I'm telling you I know what I'm talking about! The letters, the threats!" Those lazy, brown eyes just rolled as Camille turned away. Valentine's teeth cringed as she raised her voice, "WHAT? YOU THINK I'm kidding? Come on, Camille! Would I make something like that UP?" Camille giggled, "Knowing you..." Valentine's eyes widened, "DUDE! ARE YOU EFFIN' SERIOUS! You don't BELIEVE me! Oh, come on! Fine!" Camille grinned as her hands slid around Valentine's swan-like neck. Valentine's lips curled into a psychotic smile, "Oh, Camille...you should've sided with me. Things would've been...so much easier! But alas...you had to turn against me. Too bad."

"Nickel..."

"What?"

"My mouth...it tastes like nickel, Val."

"Blood..."

Blood dripped from Camille's lips as Valentine pulled a switchblade from her friend's stomach. "Y-yeah..I...I should've." Valentine merely smiled and let Camille fall to the ground, watching the wall, staring at it. Nothing seemed to be wrong at that moment, at least not to her. She brought up the switchblade to eye leave, her pupils dilating to the point of being insanely small. "Blood. . .sometimes it scares me." She grinned and instantly ran her tongue along the blade, pressing the sharp edge of the blade sharply against it. Valentine took the blade from her mouth then turned around hysterically and threw it at the wall. "Great...now...I have NO FAMILY...and NO FRIENDS! Gee, good idea Val!"

"Wasn't it?

"Wait, I was just kidding!"

"No you weren't!"

"Yes, I WAS!"

She looked around her and began to talk to herself again, "Who am I arguing with?"

"You're arguing with yourself, Val! Admit it! You meant to kill her! It was always your intention!"

"NO IT WASN'T!"

Valentine stared at the body. "Heh. . .Edgar Allen Poe would be proud!" She went around the corner of the filthy house that she resided in. The white painted walls were caked with dirt, mud, and spray paint. The floor creaked below her soft feet. Glass riddled the sides of the hallway but she quickly found a rusted a axe and walked back. Paint was beginning to peel off of the walls as she walked back. It was almost as if the paint was begging for forgiveness by her hands alone. She grinned sadistically and began walked into her room. She stared at her former's body and began to hack away at the head, arms, legs and torso. The little red droplets of "liquid life' splattered against Valentine's face, and the wall. "I'll be good soon. I promise. No it won't. Yes IT WILL. Leave me alone!"

As the entire body and blood became a parade of gore, Valentine dragged the limbs into the barb wired backyard and began to dig a grave where her parents and friends had been blessed with before Camille.

The barb wire on the ground dug into her soft feet. The blood puddled altogether creating a pool as she finished. She sighed and shoved the shovel into the ground just above Camille's dead corpse's grave. She grinned with delight and headed in, never to come back out. "Goodnight, my dear sweet Camille."

Chapter I: Happy Valentine's Day

"Goddamn it," Valentine muttered curled up into a ball. Her arms tightly curled around a white teddy bear. The fuzzy head engulfed her chin and lips as she buried her face into the stuffed animal's head. "At least you love me, Zeke," She whispered in the doll's ear. "Speaking of love. . .today is Valentine's Day isn't IT? Shit...I hate this day! Of all days...it may have my name in it BUT STILL!...AGH! I HATE IT!..." Valentine hissed lowly. Zeke turned his cuddly, fuzzy little head and wriggled free of her grasp.

" STOP CHOKING ME, BITCH!

" Sorry, Zeke. . . I'm not in a good mood."

" I can tell. So! What do you plan on doing today, Val?"

" I don't know. . .maybe go hurt somebody...or something."

" Stupid bitch."

" Shut up, Zeke."

The teddy glared up at her then jumped onto her dresser drawer, and tossed her a hairbrush. "You look terrible. . .get dressed properly or something. And brush your hair." Valentine looked up at Zeke and glared. "Fine, dad," she muttered sarcastically. Zeke grinned, the stitches moving out of place. The girl could only laugh.

"What the hell is so goddamn funny?"

"A stitch popped."

Zeke looked away and grabbed a needle and some thread and stitched himself back up. "Bitch." Valentine looked back and giggled, "Stupid, little Zeke. You can't get rid of me. . .but you can sure as hell TRY!"

Zeke looked back at her then in the mirror saying, "That's much, much better. So what do you plan on doing today, Val?"

"I already told you. Go hurt somebody."

"You're an idiot! Why hurt, when you can kill? What's wrong? Afraid you'll get caught?"

"Never! How dare you accuse me of SUCH COWARDICE!"

"Then kill! Kill them like you did Camille."

"F-f-fine!"

The plush, little bear grinned then merely watched happily as Valentine picked up a large, silver, sharpened, steak knife then hid it under her coat as she walked out.

"I've never done this before! Not since Camille. I don't know what the hell I'm doing! Or what I will be doing," cried, poor, poor Valentine.

As Valentine walked down the streets of the large city. She couldn't help but feel followed. THE STALKERS! It was several years ago since Camille died but she stilled persisted with the paranoia. The city was large, vast, and riddled with the type of people that she hated the most. The hatred, and desperation one would go through just get what they wanted. It was a pain in the virtual ass! She walked barefoot on the sidewalks despite the fact that the sidewalks had glass, and the occasional stray syringe. The knife handle poked out of the top her jeans as she continued walking, staring at the road.

Her paranoia grew. She walked faster and faster still! Valentine constantly looked around her. She came to a whorehouse and a bar, and stopped, looking around her surroundings.

A male prostitute came up behind Valentine and locked his arms around her neck, pressing himself a little too close for Valentine's comfort. "Hey sweet cheeks. Wanna have some "fun"?" he asked licking her cheek. His horrid breath smelt of liquor, and latex. His hands and arms were coarse and sickly-looking. The male prostitute's own "fragrance" smelt of dime store cologne, and old leather. Valentine just stood there as the hooker hugged her from behind. She looked down at his jeans and spotted several semen stains, just as well mixed with blood and vaginal secretion. She shuddered and squirmed free furiously. "Stay away from me," she threatened. The man just began to stride towards her, almost as if he thought she was just teasing him. "But. . .you're body is just begging to be pleasured! I can see if in your eyes. You want it so badly!" He moaned in her ear. Valentine quickly glared at him.

"My name is Jimmy."

"I don't care what your name is! You disgust me and have no right to be TOUCHING me. So I suggest you stay away."

"Oh! Feisty, aren't we? Mm. . .I like that!"

"Stay. . .away. . .from. . .me!"

Jimmy grabbed her wrist and began to pull her into an alley away. But as she screamed and begged for help, no one bothered to help her. They all merely looked at her, then looked away, shielding their eyes from the sight of a girl being raped. None of them wanted to be brought in by the cops because they'd witnessed something. They were all selfish, greedy pigs that just happened to be hellbent on being the most productive little drone bees out there.

Valentine pulled her hands up, making Jimmy's hands release her own. She struggled to get away, tears running down her cheeks, crying out, "Leave me alone! Please!" Jimmy wouldn't relent. He just pushed her against a wall quickly unbelting his belt buckle to his pants, then side them and his satin, blue boxers off his skinny, and roughed up waist. Valentine shuddered and tried to get away, but she never could get further then a mere 5 feet or so before he grabbed her wrist and threw her back. He pinned her to the wall and grinned, forcefully undoing her pants, somewhat infuriated by the complications of the buckles on the jeans. "FUCK!" He hollered, the cheered when he finally got the buckles undone. Valentine screamed, louder and louder, trying to get someone's attention. But it ended in pure vanity. They all stared then shielded their eyes from the "unholy" sight. Jimmy grinned as he slowly pulled down her black underwear. "STOP SQUIRMING!" He restrained by taping her hands behind her back, to the cold stone, brick wall, and her legs to that exact same wall. "NO! Please stop!" She begged continuously, crying till her eyes were bloodshot. But Jimmy, still refused to listen to her sorrowful pleas.

Valentine's eyes widened as she felt unyielding pain enter her body. She winced and gasped for breath. With one thrust, Jimmy grinned, having the satisfaction of being able to take control of a threateningly beautiful woman such as Valentine. "How does it feel?" He asked smirking with the pleasure of being the master and commander. He began to thrust repeatedly as Valentine merely cried trying to hold back her tears for as long as possible, but the pain became unbearable and burst out into a screaming rampage. The tears just began to flow on as the thrusts grew rougher and infuriatingly fast. The friction of the thrusts made her wince, and cough in pain. Her body was giving in to the effects of this all. Blood ran down her left thigh as skin from that area began to tear apart. Jimmy began to just thrust harder, and faster till eventually Valentine just went quiet. With a sharp, low moan, a burst of warm liquid shot into her. The heat made her quiver and shake. The monster, the abomination of mental and subconscious desires had taken several obvious steps too far, stared at her quiet, live, corpse. She trembled as he pulled away from her. Valentine looked down, her vision blurred half out of tears, and half out of fear. And there is was the object of her pain covered in her own DNA.. The deep, emerald eyes rolled into the back of her hear as she passed out, unconscious onto the cold concrete ground.

The act of rape against a mere child. A mere 15 year old girl who was just trying get something done. Merely trying. . .to do her "job". How disgusting it is to know that a mere human has the capability to do what that one person chooses just because it gives them higher power. The hatred and the idiocy of it all. I despise any person that thinks they can get away with something like that. The very thought makes me want to puke my own internal organs out.

Chapter II: Three Cheers for Sweet, Sweet Revenge

Valentine looked up from Zeke in her arms again. Her eyes were almost clouded over. She stared at the wall. Zeke squirmed free once again from his imprisonment.

"Stop moping! It's getting agitating! You've been doing this for years now. Get up!"

Valentine looked at the teddy bear with a paper face. All she COULD do was stare. She'd gone mute, and refused to talk to anyone even her own "parental" figure.

"What. . .do. . .you expect. . .me to do, Zeke?"

"Go! . . .er. . .GO. . .I. . .don't know."

"Exactly."

The glass, black and red eyes glared at her. "Since WHEN do you have commander and/or possess authority over me? YOU DON'T! I command you. I AM you. I'm not your "brother"! I'm not your boyfriend, and I'm certainly not your "father". God lord, that word makes me quiver," He stated authoritatively, and in a disgusted fashion. "You make me sick, Valentine! How can you let something like that happen to you, and you not even fight back? You make a mockery of your own self. You put being murderer to shame! GET UP! GET UP NOW! I'm commanding you to GET UP NOW!"

Valentine in her own disobedience, didn't get up. She ignored him completely blocking him out of her mind. She didn't care anymore. What did it matter? She was raped. There was no point IN caring. "What's the point in caring about something that just. . .doesn't matter? Why should I CARE? I shouldn't. That's the answer. I shouldn't care. It no longer matters. It never will matter. Nobody will care, and I'll die all alone. All alone and unloved. That's just what I believe though."

Zeke glared at her. "You pathetic being! Do you honestly need to validate yourself with a so called "significant" other?"

Valentine slid up the corner of her room, clinging tightly against it. Her eyes were pitiful and emotionless. The paint now did not fear her. She was no a longer a threat, nor was she even "alive" to them. With her head bowed she began to go over what he'd just told her. Valentine's green eyes looked up from her brown/golden bangs and glared. "You ARE my FATHER! YOU ALWAYS WILL BE! You WILL NOT LEAVE ME, DADDY! I will NOT allow you to leave me DADDY!" She hissed, barking her words to him. A long pale, tan hand grasped Zeke's neck. The hand held him up in the air and she instantly grinned. "You will NOT leave," Valentine whispered.

The teddy bear gasped for breath as Valentine's grip tightened. "L-let. . .g-go VALENTINE!" Those green eyes widened. "D-daddy! Oh I'm so sorry," She said trying to sound as sincere as possible. The hand instantly let go of the fuzzy, white teddy bear, and he gasped for a breath of life. "Stupid, depressed, sad excuse for a murderer, idiotic, asshat!"

"Zeke, you do NOT command me. You are my daddy! And you will BE my daddy!"

Valentine glared at the teddy bear, unable to speak. The fuzz ball of cotton looked down at her, then glowered at her. He rubbed his neck with his cotton ball paw and looked away from those sadistic eyes that were almost transfixed on him. A shiver ran down his white spine, and he turned around to avoid her piercing gaze. But the hollow green eyes bore into his stuffed soul.

"You better not be going anywhere, Zeke."

"Yes, that would be so terrible, Zeke!"

"Valentine, how many years do you plan on having your own alter ego? It's starting to highly disturb me."

"I don't believe she actually likes having me around, dear Zeke."

"Damn straight!"

"So is there a way in can identify between the two of you? Don't you two haven't different names?"

"Zeke!" Valentine looked at him shocked.

"Well, Valentine, is Valentine. I'm. . . hmm call me Angel."

"Angel my ass," Valentine muttered.

Valentine's "alter ego", Angel hissed. The girl(s) got up and walked over to the mirror. They peered in, and Valentine's eyes widened.

In the mirror she didn't see herself. But she was a more slut-like version of herself.

Angel's hair was pulled back into a long braid and the braid itself was streaked with a dark red color. A pair of tight red leather shorts hung very loosely off her hips. The shorts barely went past the parts it was supposed to cover. And the shirt was no better. It hardly covered her breasts. Tattoo's adorned Angel's back and just above her left breast. Valentine gritted her teeth, twitching. "I have people to annihilate." Valentine hissed and turned around on the ball of her foot. She picked up a large, silver, sharpened, steak knife then hid it under her coat as she walked out.

Sometimes I wonder if what I say, goes. I have come to the conclusion of yes, and no. My way does go, but it never goes right until I force it to go write. I've come to the sudden realization that I must force my way into the lives of others to be known

Chapter III: Climatic Hands That Press

Valentine grinned as she walked down the streets of town again. She glared around at the disgusting maggots that damaged the earth. The eyes of hatred feel upon a socialistic pair that were chatting away the hours.

A girl about Valentine's height turned towards Valentine and giggled at her. Her boyfriend laughed out loud gripping his sides tightly. Valentine's eyes widened. What the hell was so funny? "You do realize that your outfit is horrid right," The girl asked. Valentine raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the right a little. "One day your going to say that to someone who holds more power than you do. And once you do you'll wish you were never born. You will be humiliated to the point of being suicidal. You will be hunted down like the dogs that you are. And when that day comes, I'll be the one laughing. And when that happens I'll be pointing and saying, 'I told ya so.' Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm more powerful than you? Has it ever occurred to you, that maybe you might die because you were just "having fun"? Ha–..."

"Oh will you shut up," cried the girl's boyfriend.

"You didn't let me finish," Valentine replied grinning. In her head Angel was screaming at her to kill. To kill them both. "As I was going to say, that one day, might be today."

She sifted through her jacket pockets and grabbed a knife and played with it between her fingers. Her pupils dilated that indecently small size again. Her smiled became broader and wider. "This is what you get for being so damned social." She came in close to them then backed up walking away. But before she got a mere 10 feet away she threw the knife randomly, hitting the girl's boyfriend, smack dab between his eyes, pinning him to the wall. The girl shrieked in terror and fell to her knees, folding her hands and began begging for Valentine to spare her life. How she didn't want to die, because she was too young TO die. Valentine, on the other hand, did not buy into any of ths B.S. the girl dished out. It was a waste of time to kill one person and yet not kill the other. Too bad, the girl was going to die so quickly. It would've been fun to torture her.

"Alas, you have become a nuisance and a complete waste of my time. There for I haven't spared you."

Valentine looked up at the bloody mess. Her hate-filled eyes still glaring at the "messy" couple and began to walk away, not bothering to get rid of any evidence there may have been.

A tall, pale figure stepped behind her, his face covered by shadows. The sound of breaking glass was heard. He was rather slender, and not very muscular, but in his hand was a razor sharp blade, that was embedded into steel. "And who, might I ask, has stolen my humble cans of paint?" He muttered lowly. Valentine turned around, "Your cans. . .of paint? I DID hear that right, right?" She rolled her eyes and began to walk away, she her mind didn't feel quite safe turning her back to him. The figure's cold hand grasped her shoulder tightly, almost digging his bloodied nails into it. Hot tears arose into Valentine's eyes as she winced, "I thought. . .that you disliked physical contact, Mr. C." She grinned deeply. The figure came into the light and grinned down at her. He gritted his teeth into a psychotic smile, almost ready to attack her. His hair was rather messy, black, and greasy. His eyes penetrated through her soul, as his sickly, and pale face stared at her. The green optics that she looked through stared up at him, with slight disgust and agitation. "Let go of me, Johnny."

Johnny's brown eyes widened, but settled back down and said in a rather deep, and raspy voice,"And you know me how?"

"You know the little kid, Squee? I was his babysitter for a time. It was kind of hard not to hear you talk to the Doughboys or Nailbunny," She said as if trying to make a come back out of her situation, though she knew that Johnny was better at the whole murdering thing then she was. Her neck inflated then deflated as she grew nervous at the hatred in his eyes. A chill ran down her spine as his hand grazed her cheek. Johnny grinned as his lips came to her ear; he inhaled the scent of blood and vanilla emitting from her neck. Valentine's eyes widened as he whispered into her ear, "Touch my lovely canvases again. . .and you'll find out how what happens to them when they die."

"Not much of a way to treat a woman."

"Yes, well I can tell by your state of being and the were you tightening up you find it..." he stopped for a moment the grinned again and sliced her arm, and began to walk off. The tapping of his boots again. "Hmm...my paint is gone for the night– I should kill you where you stand. . .but I won't; not this time."

Valentine fell back and winced in a slight pain as she gripped her wound. The blood poured from her vein, and she began to lose consciousness. "G-god...t-tha-.." Her words never were finished, and a quick thump was heard, as her now delicate knees gave way from the blood loss. The only thing that caught her fall was the concrete.

Johnny turned around, but turned back, on his boots and continued walking towards the streets in search of more "cans of paint." His mind wouldn't allow him to worry about complications such as the girl. "I don't to touch or BE touched. . .," he mumbled below his breath, then snarled lowly, about ready to gouge his eyes out with his own knife. Johnny cringed and tried to pick her up. His thin, fragile arms had remarkable strength. He held her firmly against him and picked one foot up right after the other, and headed towards the shabby shack that he called home.

Johnny twitched as the cold, brass doorknob screamed to life, with an eerie squeak. The wooden planks on his floor screeched as he walked onto them carrying, the girl in his hand. Valentine quivered in her unconsciousness, even feeling the cold in her sleep. Those eyes, the eyes of hatred, betrayal, confusion, and slight pity, scanned her body for any hidden weapons. The last thing he needed was to be bleeding again. The thought of bodily fluids made him want to puke his internal organs out. "She's clean," He whispered his voice slightly strained, and raspy from screaming. His boots banged against the creaky floor, and he winced at the noises. Weight, the heavy weight in his arms was beginning to get to him.

God, the sounds of the screaming. It brought him joy to listen to his victims beg for forgiveness, to be set free, for him to reconsider his actions; not that he ever listened to them. 'Thump, thump, thump, thump' the leather boots that encased his now pleading feet continued to thrust themselves onto the floor. The door hinge squeaked as he walked in. On the walls were bloodied messages that he'd written to his victims, but the wall was not a hideous black or brown color, and it repulsed him greatly. "It changes too quickly," he maundered. Instantly he began to strut over to the a giant machine, and strapped her in. A belt around her chest and waist while chains held her arms up, and her feet down. Her head lay against her chest, with the ability to see the barb wire, and spine walls that would instantly kill her if the switch was pulled.

"W-...where am I?" The famous question that is always asked by a person that does not ever remember what has happened or has fallen asleep or even...well been knocked unconscious.

Chapter IV: The Statues That Cry For Help

"In one of the many rooms that reside in this "little" house of horrors. You're underground."

"I see. So why am I being strapped into this. . .jiggybobber?"

"For my own reasons, and concerns that have come to my attention about a few. . .maggots that need to be taken care of and then suddenly disappearing before I can even get to them."

"Your maggots? Your sheep? Your buckets of paint. Honestly come up with something better. In any case they aren't yours. Their free to anyone who believes they should die. I, for one, am one of those people."

The sickly yellow head nodded deftly, and without hesitation to what she was saying. He walked over to a lever with a terrifying, and disturbing grin on it. "Now, tell me why you've been stealing what's mine. You lie, and you die." He grinned in a cocky, yet concerned fashion.

"It's none of your concern, really," Valentine stated in a hushed tone.

"I see then. Well, in that case," Nny said coldly.

"You going to kill me now? Okay then, go ahead. It doesn't matter?" Valentine looked at him with a softened expression though not trying to bring sympathy to sympathy to her face, nor wanting pity from his own. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me. It doesn't matter to me. I mean nothing to this world and I really have no future. All I ever do nowadays is wonder what it's like outside being this way. Wondering if it's better to be cold, or be blissful. Basically, all I am is a stain. And stains are never needed in a world like this. Not at all. Not one bit."

The cold, hostile expression on Johnny's face changed immediately. "You show no fear," he looked up at her eyeing her madly, with hatred. "I'll gouge out your eyes and nail them to the wall. Skin you alive, then use your skin as a patches for the roof. I'll suck your organs out with a plunger then use them for decor. Use your hair for hay, and burn you clothes."

The girl's narrow shoulder's shrugged as she looked down at him. "It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid to die in my lifetime. I know I didn't live a good life. And I know there is no Heaven waiting for me, but I'm not afraid. Death is something that I actually embrace. I'm not exactly sure why. But it doesn't matter."

Eyes of hatred widened with fear. "Why aren't you afraid! The last person I tried this machine on said THE SAME THING! Why don't you cry? Why don't you scream? SCREAM LIKE THE REST OF THE JOKERS ON THIS ROCK!" There was that icy temperature drop again. The cold. The ice cold feeling that surrounded her when she'd come in. How could she have remembered if she was unconscious. The green eyes of Valentine were fixated on him. She didn't particularly want to die but she didn't have a choice. Well, so she thought. She watched his every move, scanned his face for any way that she could get out of being killed. There was no use in trying. Her face refused to show fear at all times. After that night a few years ago, the rape. There was nothing worse then being degraded like that. Being forced to perform an act against one's will. Valentine lurched her forward about the vomit, but she held it down. Primal instincts almost forced it out of her, but she forced herself to shake her head. "God," She cried softly, holding back tears.

"Putting up an act for?" Johnny asked, slightly amused.

"I'm not putting up an act. This wave. . .of. . .terror came over me. Just a few things that happened a few years ago. Please do not make me get into it."

"Why not? I mean you've only got a few moments to leave anyways? Why not relieve something then forget it once and for all."

"Please, stop it. I don't want to have to face those. . .h-horrors. . .again. Oh, god. Please don't."

"Do tell."

"Please stop!" She begged the moments, the terror that she'd felt. The belittlement and humiliation. It made her lunged forward a few time loosening to the straps around her. Her eyes almost shot out of her head as she began to cry to herself.

"Tell me and I'll make your pain end. TELL ME!" He laughed mockingly at her.

Instantly she screamed and cried out, "I WAS RAPED!"

Johnny's cold grey eyes widened further from shock. He took a step back almost stumbling backwards. His own eyes filling with tears, but hatred swelled into his mind as he forced himself to stay standing. Valentine began to tear wildly at the restrains trying to get out, hoping she'd fall onto the nails and spines below her.

_You can try and split people's head's open until your victim's blood is literally stained on your hands. You can shoot a wall until the wall is made of metal bullets, and you can torture little animals until you have so many skins that you can make carpets. And, still, it will change nothing about yourself. It will never satisfy whatever anger and sadness was built up in your system. You can try and ask for forgiveness from whatever god you think smiles down upon you and still you will never be satisfied. Not until you've made your last move._

Chapter V: Stick and Stones

A gloved hand fisted together as anger and madness ran through Johnny's body. "That. . .is so sick, and so twisted!" He bent down to the ground and instantly thrust his hand forward into it. A small wall of smoke cleared as he winced, flexing his fingers. He gripped it tightly with his unscathed hand and gasped slightly. Johnny gave a sad and pained glance at her. "I'll be back later. Try not to die while I'm gone. And by the way, call my Nny," He said half out of fright and half out of sarcasm.

Valentine looked down at the floor feeling like a puppet tied to strings. "I'm glad I'm just not hanging. That would hurt badly," she whispered. Nny turned around and stared at her over his shoulder than walked out of the room his shoulder hunched forward almost shamefully from Valentine's point of view. It didn't matter. She was stuck there for the rest of night. Soon, she'd hoped, that all of pain would go away with one push of that stupid, vile, grinning lever. How she wanted to pull that damn lever. Her eyes rolled down as her eyes lids grew heavy. She fell asleep right there. Hanging by chains, and leather.

_Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Such a stupid little poem. Nothing, and no one lives happily ever after. It's just a saying that'll never come true, and it's just a rhyme. But why am I so intent on hating it? I know why. I want my own 'Happily Ever After'. But I'll never get it. Not at this rate. Not at the rate that I'm railing on. I'm colliding into another train. Into another wall. God, why won't the walls just go away? Just disappear. Maybe then I wouldn't have to ask the same questions over, and over, and over, and over again. Like some kind of robot that's been broken or stuck on repeat. Yes, a record, a cd, a cassette, stuck on repeat._

Chapter VI: Three Shots Of Morphine

The echo of screams rang into Valentine's ears. As she lifted her head, the hair tucked behind her ears part a bit revealing her pierced ears. Two silver earrings hung from her right ear, and one from her left. She wasn't in that god awful machine anymore. Her wrist were throbbing with pain as a wave of heat came over her. Valentine sat up and looked around grasping her head. She was in a bedroom. The in front of her was black and red. The smell of the room was absolutely nauseating, and smelt of flesh. She pitched forward cupping her hand over her mouth. Gag reflexes are getting the best of me.

Her shirt was stained with caked on dirt, or some sort of foul smelling substance. Her green eyes looked up to see a bottle of water. Murky water. Gross, disgusting, brown and red water. Her hands reached for it instantly and uncapped it letting the water run over her hands until a small lump of white fell into her hands. She sniffed it curiously. "Strychnine!" cried Valentine shaking her hand and head trying to make the "drug" go away. "Is there more?" Her hands tipped the bottle over themselves again. The murky, blackened, and brown water running over them again. Brown water. Her throat was ready to rupture from the lack of water. Almost literally screaming at her to give it something to drink. To calm it down. To keep it from killing itself. Her human and primal instincts forced her to listen despite the fact it went against her thoughts for the moment. She pressed the top of bottle against her lips and began to tip the bottle over when the door burst open. There was Nny in the door way. His hair as messy and greasy as ever. His black and white interchanging shirt. It now read the famous line "Smile you, fucker!" on it. Valentine set the bottle down afraid of being yelled at now. Johnny looked at her softly then frowned at her glaring wildly out of pure hatred and anger for her stupidity.

"That water has been sitting there for 2 years. It's been sitting with that Strychnine for a couple of hours. It's meant for one of my experiments, so please, do not waste it on yourself. It is not worth it."

"Why isn't it worth it? Why should YOU choose MY fate?"

"I never said I had to choose your fate. I'm just saying it's waste of heavily drugged and tainted water. Suicide is one of the stupidest things that a person can do. And I've heard around the churches that suicide is that ultimate sin that can be performed."

"I don't put my trust or faith in God. I do not believe in religion. As for the water. Tainted water? Experiments? You're sick. You're sick and disgusting."

"No. My name is Johnny C. Or in your case, Nny," He bowed humbly to her.

Valentine gave paid no attention to him and looked around the room. "May I leave?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, no. Not at the moment at least."

Her eyes widened as she clenched the sheets of the somewhat squishy bedding. "W-why?" hollered Valentine.

"The present situations require that you stay here. For if you don't you'll probably be caught by the police. And what a load of fun that would be," He said coldly.

Valentine ran over to the boarded up window and tried to look through it. Her picture, on a black and white sheet of paper was stapled to a telephone pole. Her eyes fell to the nail and blood ridden floor. "The hell did you do in here?"

"Cleansed the walls, and the flooring, though my subject refused to stand still. I had to nail them to the wall. Eventually my subject settled to screaming and yelling at me– begging me to release him. He should've known that eventually karma would come back to haunt him." Nny grinned passionately, talking as if the torture were like reliving a happy childhood memory. Johnny walked over to the window and looked out of it like a rat in search of food. When he saw no one he paced the floor, hurriedly. He watched as the mice that owned half of his house scurried by. His boot raised then shot down. With a horrible squishing sound a mouse was dead. The boot peeled off of the floor, bearing blood and smashed up internal organs and fear. Valentine took a few steps backwards running into the wall behind her with a quick thud, staring at the mouse before her.

"May I ask you a question?" Nny looked up at her with curious eyes. Valentine looked back at him nodding softly. His passionless gaze was intimidating, though all the while staring his head hung and his shoulder's hunched forward. Valentine could feel herself trembling just looking at him. There was something about him. Something that she couldn't quite put her finger on that made her half lustful and half frightened of him. Johnny took in a deep breath and folded his arms and stated softly, "Have you ever felt that maybe you don't belong in a world such as this? That you were put on this...this..this ROCK by mistake?" His voice grew deplorable, in shivering, and quivering.

Valentine blinked and nodded, "Yes. Always." She shrugged it off almost as if it were a daily feeling. Which. . .it was! Ever since that day two years ago. I've finally learned to get over it. . .well recently I have. But when it first happened I was so completely torn up. I used to always be called The Little Black Angel the flew from Hell to Earth. My parents used to always call me a mistake. I wasn't supposed to be born." Her breathing became shaky as her eyes became bloodshot. Her trembling knees gave way to her weight and she feel to the wood plank floor with a loud thump. "My parents. . .were NEVER there for me. Always mocking me. Making fun of me. Calling me terrible names, and making things up about me. They'd always think I cheated on tests or, if I got a present from a friend, they'd think I'd stolen it from the store! I WOULD NEVER!" The side's of her eyes grew hot as tears streamed down her soft, curved face. She looked up at Johnny expecting to be slapped or hit, or painfully hurt in some way. But Johnny merely stood there head bowed; unable to look at her hurting, pained state. He turned around on the ball of his boot and walked up and down the room like a cat waiting to be let out of the room. "That's so cruel. To have a child and then DESPISE that child." His expression hardened, firmly, "It makes me SICK!" He stood there for a moment pondering on what to do. "This house has been so quiet since the death's of Mr. Eff and Psycho DoughBoy." Johnny sighed heavily and walked over to the door and turned the doorknob. It screamed, in a hideous fashion as it turned then halted to a stop as he pulled the door open. "You can stay here for the night. But only for the night. Tomorrow you can deal with the police." Valentine cringed and twitched, "F-fine."

The warmth. It felt so good to feel warm again. Always having to be cold. Johnny could feel something entwine around his body. It was her arms. Valentine's warm arms. Touch. The feeling of being touched. It made him slightly disgusted. "Let go of me," he begged, muttering to her. His hands instantly pressed against her chest by mistake as he shoved her away from him. Nny's hand were frigid, like steel, or ice. Just like the rest of his leather and cloth bound body. His eyes shot fire at her. Valentine's arm slid across her chest. She could still feel his lingering fingers on her chest despite the fact that after he'd pushed her away he'd retracted his hands. A streak of red ran across her nose as she looked up at him. "Why are you blushing?" Nny looked at her with confusion. Valentine merely shook her head. The young murderous teen was still hunched over when he left the room and locked the door tightly. Valentine looked down and slid to the floor staring at it for quiet some time.

_Bloodlust! Bloodlust! Perfume of the dead and the living. Bloodlust, bloodlust. How good it smells to be a part of something lives. And yet sometimes you wonder what went so terrible wrong with your life once you come to realize that the world is nothing but anger, hating, and terrified of new things. Sometimes I wonder. . .why I was put on this rock. I wish someone would explain why._

Chapter VII: The Red Eyes That Bleed Bad Blood

Valentine walked back to her home. Her lonely home. The one that no one lived in. No except her and Zeke. As she entered Zeke was waiting. A deep hate in his beady eyes. "Where have you been?" His voice filled with anger, and confusion. Valentine's body shivered lightly as she turned back to him. Her eyes had lost their emerald green luster. What had happened?

"ANSWER ME, VALENTINE CHRISTINE ROMANO!"

Valentine twitched at his yelling of her full name. "Don't EVER call me that again, Da-...Zeke please?" She looked up at him and sat down, in front of Zeke, both of her hands clenching the opposing arm near her shoulders. Her knees to her chin though spread apart. She looked at him with a pitiful and solemn expression. "I was at a house."

"What house? Owned by whom?"

"A character named Johnny C."

His eyes extended circularly. "YOU WENT TO SEE WHO?" His shrieks rang in Valentine's ears as she winced. "Johnny C.," She replied. Zeke stood up, and pointed to her, screaming, "DON'T YOU DARE EVER SEE HIM AGAIN GO IT?" Valentine looked up at him in wonder. "And why not?"

"I've known Johnny for awhile, and he is NOT someone you want to associate with! The boy is unstable, demeaning to you, and unclean. I do not want you to be. . .de-flowered by a criminally insane, obnoxious, whinny, self-loathing, hypocritic, demonized, bizarre, lazy, sadistic BASTARD!"

"Would you care to string any other insults in that sentence?"

"Shut up!"

"Stay away from Johnny. He'll lie to you. He'll change my. . .-" The furry white head looked at her and brushed a fuzzy paw around her cheek, "He'll change my daughter into. . .a. . .a whore!" he screeched.

Valentine looked up at him, but her eyes changed and she stood up instantly, "You're right, Zeke! I don't need to be trusting that ass, Johnny. Who knows maybe he was gonna rape me!" It wasn't Valentine anymore, but Angel, the "alter ego". The girl(s) pulled her hair back and braided it. "I don't need, Johnny-boy," She grinned, looking to the side, her shoulder's hunched, and her nails to her lips almost biting them. Angel began to strut over to the closet. The sliding door track was rusted with water and age, and the mirrors on the doors were caked with blood and dirt. Angel wiped some of the grime away and looked at herself in the mirror, then smiled pleasantly. "I'm so beautiful!" She winked at herself in the mirror then glowered at herself. "These clothes will never do!" She opened the doors and looked around the closet. "AHA! I found it," her voice grew higher pitch as she began to change. Her hands reached for the bottom of the bloody black t-shirt, and she slid it off revealing her striped black and white turtle neck underneath. She grimaced at the bloodstains on the shirt and decided that it was no longer necessary to keep that shirt anymore. "Hmm. I wonder if she keeps lighters and matches, and if she does then where?"

A grin came over her face as she spotted a red cardboard case of matches sitting on the top shelf near some black and green books. "Hmm, convenient. Imagine the timing!" Her lips curled as she grabbed them, and the clothes, took them outside and looked around for any sort of flammable liquid. When she couldn't find any she decided just to burn the clothing. "Goodbye, old life, and goodbye Valentine." With that Angel, and her menacing smile, lit a match one single, solitary match, then watched as the miniature bouquet of fire, enlarged, encased, then engulfed Valentine's horrid clothing. The stream of a breeze passed by and sent Angel's shirt upwards a bit, making her fidget, and twitch in anticipation for the clothing to burn into the soil. In her impatience she walked off.

Zeke stood in the middle of her path. A roadblock. A meaningless road block. Angel threw her hand to the side, and mumbled, "Get out of the way, Zeke." Zeke folded his white, cotton-stuffed arms together and glared up at her with his black, marble, beady eyes. The annoyed figure in front of him tossed up her foot and kicked him aside. "I said move!" Zeke groaned as he stood up, a dirtied paw over his white stomach. "You're making a mistake, Angel. You'll regret it. If you're gonna go destroy something, destroy the wretched urchin, sick fuck, Johnny C." The teddy, Valentine's father, as he was portrayed as walked away. No sound was heard from his steps. It was almost as if the noise was afraid to emit, in fear of Angel's screams, or threats. Though, Zeke, himself, had only known Angel for brief while. It made him feel uneasy that this woman was wondering around Valentine's house, burning Valentine's clothes. "Where do you plan on going, Angel?"

"None of your damn business, Zeke. You stupid, fucking, stuffed animal," Angel murmured, rolling her eyes. With that she strode over to the broken down door, but as she pulled it the door knob, the wooden, paint-chipped door flew off of it's hinges. "Fu-..." she stopped herself then let go of the door, letting it fall to the nail ridden floor. The black, laced up boots, clacked against the wooden floor, and she stepped out into the world. It smelt of sulfur, deluded natural air that was stained with pollution. It was better then hospital air. Sterile.

_Never knowing where you were. Being as high as you pleased. No really of course. A fictionally high feeling. When you right you're God, but when someone threatens your life, you're not God, you're just a pawn. Think about it. We're all pawns and Gods at one time or another. We can lie, and we can tell the truth. God made us as lie. He let us lie. Why? Over a stupid apple. Hm. It makes me wonder sometimes. Makes me think that there IS no God,_

Chapter VIII: Dancing With The Grace Of A Knife

Music. Loud, obnoxious, hideously sounding music. It was god awful to listen to. But everyone was dancing to it. Why? Because it was cool. Angel sat at the bar, listening to the crap that they played. Every song made her cringe in distaste. It was driving her crazy, but as her eyes wondered back to the bar, and young man slightly older then her, sat down. His grey eyes burning with lust and desire, as sweat trickled down his temples and neck. "You look delicious." Angel's lips turned upwards as a smile caught her lips as he spoke to her. The young man slid a hand around her waist and pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "Care to dance?" Angel give him a sly look and nodded.

"By the way my name is, Angel."

The young man looked at her and shook his head, "I don't care WHAT your name is, but mine's Chris." His callous hands picked her up and swung her to the dance floor. Angel gasped slightly at the force, then brushed herself off in the sea of people. Chris came up behind her brush his waist up against his, doing almost a strip-tease dance but without the removal of his clothing. She twitched, and went along with it. Her waist thrusting against his, though the repetitive motion began to wear her legs and back down and she stopped. Chris rolled his eyes, "Come on! We just got started and already you're quitting?" Angel's eyes widened slightly, "Um, excuse me, we've been dancing like this for an hour."

Christ rolled his eyes and looked at her, speaking in an annoyed tone said, "Come on! What kind of party girl are you? You don't dress like one, you don't dance like one!"

Angel's eyes widened, then grew to slits as she glared, "Gee than-..!"

Thunder! No, it couldn't be thunder. It was too close. The door! It was slammed shut. The figure. That tall, pale, sickly-looking figure. Angel's eyes grew as she recognized the young man. Johnny!

Johnny's eyes narrowed as he looked around, his slick black hair swing as the wind picked up, almost at his arrival– almost to greet him. His head whipped, and the wind followed obediently; master, and slave. Johnny was confused for a moment. Who was that girl? That girl in the back with that filthy bastard by her side. Long, curly brown hair, soft emerald eyes. His eyes widened as he took a step back. 'Valentine?' he drew a blank for a moment but the eyes confirmed it. It was Valentine. The girl he'd suited up in a device, then taken down. The girl that was sick when she was with him. The one that fell asleep so often? He cringed but continued on.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" He jumped onto a table and looked around at the people who had stopped dancing to see him. Angel lurched forward her hand grasping her head, as a cold sweat ran down her face. Chris moved away from her shuddering body and moved more towards the back.

Johnny spotted this change in her but then ignored it, "For those of you have fueled my hate towards the monstrosities that you have became, which I'm sure all of you, but those of you who have, thus far, not, well, oh well, you'll do so eventually if I do not halt your stupidities before the world succumbs to the abuse."

Valentine, in Angel's clothes, realized where she was at. The café? Johnny, as he finished his long– and to the people– boring monologue, he swiftly, picked up his knife and began slaughtering the people that were in the small café. Blood, like spray paint, vandalizing the not-so-pure white walls. Screams emitting as much as at an amusement park. It made Valentine cringe, in fear and regret. Slicing through one person then another. Breaking chair to hit people in the back of the heads. What he was doing wasn't wrong. It was helping. Helping who or what he didn't know. It made him feel engorged with power and a feeling of getting something done. But as the screams finally subdued she realized she was the only one left. There he was. Johnny. Standing right in front of her. His cold eyes, glued to her. Cold, black eyes. "You lied to me. You told me you were different from the others. You claimed you weren't like the reset of them. So you lied to me to save your own skin. Nice job," He said looking down at her, not a hint of emotion left in him. The luster in his eyes gone. It all disappeared when he saw her there on the ground amongst the bloodied corpses and pieces of broken furniture, a ceiling panel occasionally falling.

"I didn't lie to you," Valentine averted his piercing gaze, with his sterile, black eyes.

"You have the nerve to lie again to me!"

"I'm serious! I don't have control of some things in life. This is one of them."

"What the urge to whore yourself out to other men? Bet you hoped to get into my pants just say you did."

"That's not true, Johnn-..." She was cut off by the sudden stomp of his boot.

"Don't you dare call me Johnny! You've lost that right! You're no better then the rest of the flies looking for their own grotesque way to satisfy themselves. You-...!" His eyes widened as he coughed.

"SHUT UP! I AM DIFFERENT!" Valentine was standing up to him. Her hands wrapped tight around his throat, her thumbs pressing hard against his jugular. "I AM DIFFERENT! I AM DIFFERENT I'M NOT THE SAME! I refuse to be called the same! TAKE IT BACK! TAKE IT BACK, DAMMIT!" Her grip loosened as her stared back at her.

"I will NOT take back what I said. What I said was true! I saw you here! In that skimpy ass clothing! It's not hard to put two and two together."

"Obviously two and two in your mind make 3."

"Maybe it does."

"The personality of a ball barring for a gun!"

"But you like that don't you?" Johnny examined her when she let go of him. He walked around her. She was a specimen in a lab. A lab rat. Or was she? "You find it to be. . . what's the word? Sexually appealing, I'm going to assume? I can read you. You're like glass. I can see right through you."

"STOP! STOP RECITING LINES! You're NOT IN A PLAY JOHNNY C.! YOU DO NOT CONTROL ME! I'M NOT YOU! YOU ARE NOT THE WALL! I am NOT WHAT YOU SAY I AM!"

"Does it make you feel better when you scream at me? It does, doesn't it? Because you cannot show your true feelings for me. CAN YOU? I can see it in your eyes. You admire me. You praise me. I'm your God, aren't it? I cannot save you. I will not SAVE YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Valentine cringed at him. It wasn't true. She wasn't the same. It was that Angel person! It was her fault! All of this was her fault.

Chapter IX: The One Way Looking Glass

"But this girl! It's not me! I swear! I have this thing! This mental illness, Johnny! It's a personality disorder! Her name is Angel! She's the one that you saw. IT'S NOT THE REAL ME!"

"Our outside depicts our inside. So, I believe. What you truly desire is that woman, Angel. You want to be like her. She's your inner needs and desires. You disgust me, miss."

Valentine stared ahead of her. It's not true! I can't be true! He's lying! But. . .I love him! He's not lying! He's lying! God, why I can't I think this through? Why? It's so hard! So hard to think. So hard to breathe! So hard to stay conscious!

Johnny watched as Valentine walked out of the café. He grinned softly to himself then took off in the opposite direction. He let the wind press against his face as he ran about looking for something to do, though all the while the safety of Valentine on his mind. But it struck him as unimportant as a awhile.

It can't be true. Valentine staggered home. Her eyes wide with fear of the unknown. The still bustling city streets were the sounds that were blocked out. The bloody orange-ish color. Sunset! NIGHTTIME! Anything can happen at nighttime! Salvation! Home. Home is so close. So close. Almost there. Smoke. A fire? No. And if it was it was from a grill. The crunch of gravel beneath her shoes. The wind twisting her hair around. Her skirt covered in filth and blood. But that smell. Of fire. It grew stronger. As she came to her house, she saw it. Her house was on fire. This would not stop her. With a great shame she walked in into the blazing building. Fire, and heart surrounded her frail frame. "So. . .hot." The smoke began to thicken as she entered the inner chambers of the house.

She pushed open her room door, and there sat Zeke in all his white and fuzzy glory! Just sitting there. Not saying a word. Valentine, with a trembling hand, grabbed him, and pulled him into her arms. She down, her knees pulled to her chin. The smoke came closer to the floorboards. Painting peeling again. The crash and bash of things breaking by the heat! "I'm not the same," Valentine recited to herself. Her eyes growing heavy, and the inability to breathe became too much and she closed her eyes, the fire still growing in size. Glowing, brighter and brighter just like a star in the sky.

_Fire. It's a terror to those who despise it, yet a little boy's toy. Pyromaniacs. The lots of us. Destroying what we want, when we want no matter what the consequences. Am I right? Yes, I am right. Man is slowly and steadily rolling into decline. For how long will this continue? I'm not even sure._

All rights reserved. All Jhonen or Slave Labor Graphics related characters; Johnny C., Mr. Eff, Psycho Doughboy, Squee, The Wall, are all Jhonen Vasquez creations and owned by him.© 2005; These were used without permission

All rights reserved for all of MY CHARACTERS: Zeke, Valentine, and Angel. All products of Aim Straight Inc © 2005 Printed; Saturday, September 03, 2005 Illegal reprints or distribution of any part of this used without permission of Aim Straight Inc. will be dealt with.


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